Script
by TruffleWings
Summary: Post AJ. Vera lies in her hospital bed, pondering why she was lucky enough to escape the poison and how she will now venture out into the outside world between visits by some familiar characters. Oneshot.


A/N I've had this sitting around for a while. Keep in mind that this was written a while ago. I personally thought that the first bit didn't flow quite well, but the second half was all right. Warning: Has undergone minimum editing. (Because I was too lazy. Don't give me that look!)

It was a miracle, they said. A stroke or a thousand of luck.

Sitting up in the hospital bed, she could finally appreciate it. She had survived. She didn't know why—why was it that she had slipped through the cracks from life, wormed out of the tendrils of oblivion? And her father had not. The cards that were dealt… no hand the same. She'd done nothing to deserve what she'd got; and yet she was the one whose world was opened. She was the one whose life was spared.

She looked down at her hands, her nails. When she had left the studio, they had been a healthy pinkish red. Now they looked uncommonly pale, sickly even, though she knew it was because the poison had fled her fingertips.

The teen glanced round the cluttered (with DVDs) room, admiring how brilliant the colors suddenly seemed in the bright light, how each object in the room seemed to hold its place, a particular shape, how the shadows followed a kind of rhythm, creeping about the room with complexity, falling onto the floor. All these things followed rules, she knew. And if these rules were put into art, then the canvas becomes a window into the world.

The world… she had been isolated from it for what seemed like all her life. It had been her wish to stay apart from the world; the fearful place that housed people like that shadowy figure that had tried to snatch her away, and her father acquiesced to her desire. She still couldn't get used to the outside, even now. The crowds of people, the sudden—

"Vera!" The blue-haired girl very nearly jumped out of her skin when a worried but relieved voice permeated the room. She turned to see her defense attorney, Apollo Justice, and his assistant, Trucy Wright.

Trucy… Wright? In the trial, she had gathered that Trucy was actually one of the Gramaryes. A Gramarye! Imagine that! It was amazing. Thinking this, Vera's eyes brightened.

"Are you well?" Apollo asked anxiously.

Vera nodded. "But I still need two more weeks of bed rest, the doctors said," she replied quietly.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay! You've got your whole life ahead of you—after all, you were found innocent!" Trucy bounced on the balls of her feet jubilantly.

Vera was nervous. All the relief, the extreme excitement and feelings were uncomfortably tangible in the atmosphere and she could sense the awkwardness that, too, filled the room. Or at least, it did for her. Trucy had a kind of magic that let her walk where she wished, no worries, no unease. Vera used to have a magic—or at least a magic charm. But it had turned out to the be the worst curse of all.

Apollo seemed to sense Vera's uncertainty, and asked, "Are you okay?"

Now that he mentioned it, she was a bit dizzy… Quickly, Vera put her hands on her head, lightly, to steady herself.

"I think you're too loud, Truce."

Oh. The gesture of easing her brief spell had made it seem as though she were covering her ears from the noise.

"…Vera?"

The girl looked up with a questioning look.

"What are you going to do once you get out of here?"

A very good question. Return back to the studio, she supposed, and continue in her life of painting. Realizing she hadn't voiced her thoughts out loud, she quickly replied, "I will go back to Drew Studio and continue painting my own works."

"Hey, hey, do you want to see a trick?" Trucy spoke blithely, suddenly. "I am the next Gramarye, after all!"

"Okay!" Vera smiled, clutching her sketchbook to her chest, eagerly awaiting the magic that was to come. Apollo looked a bit lost; perhaps her change in attitude was a little abrupt? But it was only natural—there was nothing much to be said about her current state of affairs, and she was interested in magic.

The young magician grinned and put her hand behind her back. With a twirl, she pulled something out from her cloak. A series of twangs and clonks ensued in a quick march, and another cloaked figure emerged in a flash of blue.

Ah, yes. Vera had seen this in the detention centre, but she had been far too nervous with the two strangers to prepare herself for a magic trick. Now she could fully appreciate it and gave a wide smile, leaning forward.

Trucy was not done yet; Mr Hat threw the silk top hat into the air as Trucy threw her cloak with it—the cloak enveloped the hat, and when it landed in a heap on the floor, the hat had disappeared.

"Now, where did it go?" Trucy made an exaggerated movement of searching high and low, which made Vera let out a childish laugh. "Ah ha!" she said triumphantly as she drew the hat from inside the pink piano that Mr Wright had brought in.

Magic didn't follow rules, and that was the beauty of it. Vera clapped and laughed, feeling as though she was once again in the stands at a great magic show by Troupe Gramarye as they cast their illusions, their sorcery over the stage…

A figure slinked into the room. Clad in an unmistakable beanie and a grey sweatshirt, the man, quite anticlimactically if you consider the three pairs of eyes that had darted to him, said, "Hey."

"Daddy!"

"Hiya, Trucy. You too, Apollo." He then turned his gaze on the painter. "So, how're you doing, Vera? Gotten through those DVDs yet? Good stuff, eh."

Vera nodded shyly. The piles of discs he had brought served to pass the time.

"We're gonna have to talk about what you're going to do, Vera. Did your father keep his money at home?"

A blank stare.

"Er… do you know where his money is?"

A shake of her head.

"Shouldn't he have a bank account?" Apollo asked.

Mr Wright shook his head. "He was an old-fashioned man, that Drew Misham. You should know. Anyway, she can't survive on painting alone. Maybe she'd be able to earn a living, but she needs money. Now."

Her father had always gone out to buy the things she had needed. She didn't know where he'd kept the money. Now, she wished she had paid more attention, or _asked_. But she had always been so preoccupied by painting… and many things besides. More specifically, replicating. Forging.

"We'll have to lend you some money for the time being, then." Vera nodded. "Trucy?"

"Gotcha!" A twirl of her cane, and a stream of color flowed down from it in ribbons. There was a plop sound. What wonderful magic! Vera reached down to the object that landed on her feet. A small, brown container. Soft, but worn. When she opened him, a glimmer of green caught her eye. A wallet, she surmised.

"Thank you," she said gratefully.

Apollo looked suspicious, furrowing his brow, then patting his pockets. "Hey, that's mine!"

Vera widened her eyes, and quickly pressed it into his hands. Stealing was wrong. She didn't want him to be mad at her.

But, to her surprise, he shrugged off her hands and smiled. "Keep it. You need it." He turned to Mr Wright. "You, on the other hand, owe me fifty bucks."

"Ha ha. He tells great jokes, doesn't he?" The former attorney laughed gently and smiled at Vera. She smiled back uncertainly.

"Hey…!" The red-clad man scowled.

Vera watched on, seeing how they interacted with each other, how each of them seemed to fit in a certain role, a certain way. A pattern they fell into with ease. They were a family. None were related as far as she knew, not by blood, and yet their bonds were tighter than any she had seen, and she had seen broken families.

Her father loved her; her mother left them both. After she had woke, she watched the recording of the trial, admiring Apollo's determination, and saw more broken relations. Klavier Gavin, clearly in pain at his brother's crime, yet finding the strength within himself to condemn his own flesh and blood. Their sibling bond had broken, while the younger Gavin visibly wished it wasn't so, that he could keep on pretending that everything was all right. Or maybe not, for the prosecutor had kept a strong face, turning his eyes only to the truth. He was strong.

Was she weak?

Hiding from the world, in an effort to flee from people like the man who had once attempted to kidnap her. Now she knew, as she probably always did, that there was good.

Yes, she was weak.

But she could become strong. Looking at the trio that laughed and bantered, the people who played a part in unlocking the proverbial door in her mind, she knew that she had been given an opportunity to append her ignorance. Another chance. Some people were given many—she was one of them. Again, she wondered, why? Why her?

"Vera, we'll be leaving now, okay?"

The girl looked up and nodded.

"We'll be back!" Trucy called over her shoulder as they departed.

Alone once more. Vera pondered for a moment whether to watch the Jamming Ninja shows that she was partway through. She reached for the remote—and her thigh hit something hard that then fell onto the floor with a thump. Widening her eyes at the sudden noise, she leaned over to see what exactly was it that somehow ended up unnoticed in the bed for three whole days.

A familiar, inviting sight greeted her and she felt a smile spread over her lips as joy rose into her eyes. It had been a long time.

Her sketchbook.

She opened it, flipping to an empty page and grabbing her charcoal and cloth. Her sketchbook had been missing since they had brought her to the hospital. She had wondered why she couldn't find it, and why the doctors never knew where it was, because when she had fallen prey to the poison, she had been gripping it like there was no tomorrow. Trucy must have magicked it back—that was the basis of magic, after all. Disappearing acts. Or rather, rematerializing acts.

Several blissful lamp-lit moments passed. Vera straightened from the book and assessed her handiwork.

A girl and boy were in the forefront of the colorless sketch. Atop of the girl's head was a top hat with feathers and coins streaming out of it. Her smile blossomed across a round face, earnest eyes staring out into the world. She looked so jubilant that she seemed to almost be bouncing on the balls of her feet in eagerness, ready to jump out into the world.

The boy beside her was holding his hand up in a fist, a bracelet winking out from his wrist. Two spikes of hair stood defiantly against the odds, and he wore a determined expression, eyebrows arched downwards not in anger, but in resolution, his mouth curved into a stubborn, slight smile.

Behind the pair was the profile of a dark-haired man wearing a beanie. A hand was scrunching the hat as though debating whether to pull it off, or perhaps to secure it in place. A mysterious, bittersweet smirk twisted his lips, but his eyes held an obstinacy that surpassed the boy's own by miles. A baggy outfit toned down his buff physique, but his posture implied new beginnings, revivals, and redemption.

Smiling contently at her completed piece, she leaned back, closing the sketchbook. Sure, it wasn't one of her best pieces—a doodle, really—but it captured how grateful she was to her saviors, the people that lifted her from the enclosed world she had lived in till today and had given her courage to face the real world.

A slight feeling of unease curled up in the pit of her stomach. Her saviors? She had drawn her saviors? No doubt they had saved her, but… were they the only ones who had given her another chance?

Instinctively, she brought her hand to her lips, to perhaps chew on her fingernails as she pondered on this, but as soon as she tasted her nails, she dropped her hand quickly. A face flickered across her mind—no, two faces. Saviors, saviors… Yes, there was one more.

Someone who seemed like _that man_ when she had first met him, when she had recognized their similarities, drudging up memories and attempting to compare the two. She had frozen in shock, had been unable to properly contrast them, but the déjà vu had hit her so hard that it was imprinted in her mind. She stared at him that trial, unable to comprehend, a mix of emotions unpleasantly churning in her gut.

Later, Vera knew that Klavier Gavin was not _that man_. Far from it. Brothers they may have been, but apart from their looks, he was completely and utterly different from his sibling. And Klavier Gavin was also someone who had saved her. If he had not gritted his teeth and intervened during the trial, to condemn his _own_ brother, then she would have been found guilty for murder.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

So many people reaching out, helping her along this unfamiliar path…

Vera now thought that it was time to stop contemplating the why: why she had been given a second, third, fourth, fifth chance so many times. Instead, she realized that it was time to start facing tomorrow, with an open heart and an open mind.

She had friends and these friends would now be her family. Her father, her dear father, who had turned to forgery _for her_, was gone. But he had left behind a beautiful future. And he had given her the chance to set out into the world. He had given her friends to help.

As she leaned back onto the pillow, a soft knock sounded. Vera wondered who it could be and waited. No one came in, but after a few moments another knock echoed through the room. Quickly, she called, "Come in." Her voice sounded weak and tinny.

The door clicked open and a familiar face entered the hospital room. Automatically, Vera's heart kicked up a few notches and it felt as though a hand gripped her throat. She scrunched her bed sheets as a scream of panic, pent up inside her, flew through her mind.

But then she could breathe again and relaxed. Vera chided herself; it was not _him_. It was one of her saviors. _It's safe. It's safe. It's safe._ She kept telling herself that, in an effort to build on her courage. Because she had none.

The man that lounged into the room did so with ease, with a suave and debonair manner. Gold hair framed a perfect, tanned face and equally dark hands swept a pair of sunglasses off his nose to reveal ocean blue eyes. A charming smile stretched from cheek to cheek and a drill of hair hung over his shoulder. Klavier Gavin.

"Guten tag, fräulein. How are you feeling?" the prosecutor greeted.

Vera was fine, thanks to him. She opened her sketchbook and scribbled a smiley face on a blank page, flipping over so he could see it.

He addressed the picture with a smile of his own. "Good to hear. Here, I got this for you. A get-well-soon gift, if I may."

Vera was presented with a gentle rainbow in a tin. Watercolor pencils, of a foreign, expensive-sounding brand. It would be useful since she could not use her paints in the hospital. "Thank you," she said sincerely, the words slipping out of her mouth like paint from a brush.

"Not at all," Klavier replied. "I trust Herr For—Apollo and his assistant have come to see you?"

Vera nodded in confirmation. "As well as Mr Wright," she supplied, feeling the need to add something to the conversation.

It may have just been her imagination, but did something cross the prosecutor's face? And did his posture change in that instant? A slight notion flitted across her mind, quick as light on water, but then the picture returned to normal. "Of course," he said. "It is only natural."

Klavier appeared to have made a decision then; he nodded and bade her goodbye, again wishing her well and said he needed to visit someone.

All these people that had visited her—Vera realized that she could watch them, how they interacted, reacted and guess the meanings behind their actions, learn things she never would have known before. She was the one who hung the scenery, knew where everyone stood, motives, pasts… Each word, each tone—they were almost never outright. Every sentence had an undertone, every action a hidden meaning. Though Vera had little contact with people, she found that her quietness was a useful shade for her to peer out at the world, through twin windows of meek knowledge. Unravel the truth, expose their motives. She need not journey outside—just in this small time-span, in this tiny room, she may learn the ways of the world before finally stepping out.

And in this way, she can forget her sorrow, decoding the words of the people that fluttered in and out of this hospital room, hiding behind the curtains and peeking out into the expanse of hidden meanings.

All the world's a stage, after all—except all this time, she had been lurking in the shadows; now she will step a little closer and read the script.

A/N That's all, folks! Review.


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